


The Wolf and the Bear

by stevem1



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevem1/pseuds/stevem1
Summary: This story diverges from canon in that after a troubling and barely remembered dream, Maege Mormont visits Winterfell and asks Ned if she can take Jon as a ward and possible husband for one of her many daughters.  In other words, this is one of my efforts at a pseudo-time travel story.I’m simultaneously writing a similar story, called the Wolf and the Mermaid, but Wyman Manderly is the character possessing vague knowledge of future events.  I wanted to use the same premise, but plot the similarities and differences in outcomes between a loyal Manderly with less time but more money and a loyal Mormont with less money but more time.Robert’s visit to Winterfell will occur when Jon and Robb are about 17/18 (300 AC).  This starts about 9 years before, so they are roughly 7-8 years old (very early 291).   The Greyjoy Rebellion kicks off around 292-293 AC, not 289 AC, per canon.Keep in mind that the Wolf and the Mermaid and the Wolf and the Bear are not in the same AU.  They are separate.
Relationships: Dacey Mormont/Jon Snow
Comments: 100
Kudos: 130





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of A Song of Ice and Fire. I’m only borrowing some of his characters and settings to practice fiction writing. This fanfiction story is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.

W&B W&B W&B

Maege Mormont ran at a breakneck pace through the thick wood. Hounds bayed in the near distance. They were getting closer, she thought desperately. She ripped her axe across a thicket of branches, trying to clear a path off the trail, as she pushed her way through.

The ambush staged by the flayed men had seen Galbart Glover dead with an arrow through his eye, and both their horses slain. She’d managed to get a shield up in time, three arrows striking it in quick succession as she threw herself off her dying horse. They’d closed in to finish her off, but she’d exploited a gap in their line, breaking for the woods. 

They’d followed. Dozens of men wearing the sigil of House Bolton. Horns blowing, hounds baying.

Her legs were on fire. She must have run for miles, attempting to lose the Bolton men in the deep woods. They kept coming no matter what tricks she employed. She knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

She came upon a meadow. A lone weirwood tree dominated the area. She heard the hounds and horns closing in from every direction. She sighed, defeated. She’d failed the King.

She patted the leather wallet tucked safely behind her sword belt. King Robb’s Will naming his natural brother, Jon Snow, a Stark and his heir was still there, the shape of the thick parchment obvious under the leather. 

She looked around. They’d be here in minutes. Taking the wallet, she tossed it high into the branches of the weirwood tree. If she was killed, the Bolton men would doubtless have found the Will on her body and destroyed it. This way, maybe, just maybe, it would escape notice and be discovered by loyal men someday.

She gave a short, desperate laugh. It was a fool’s hope. But better a fool’s hope than no hope at all.

She placed her back to the tree as shapes came into view. She’d lived her entire life clad in mail. It appeared she’d end it that way also.

If it wasn’t for her failing the Young Wolf, King Robb, she wouldn’t mind dying this way at all.

The hounds were unleashed first. A peasant untrained in war might have panicked at the snarling fangs and sharp claws, but she was a warrior and they were mere beasts. One stroke of an axe for each saw four dogs dead and the rest cowering.

The men came next. Bolton men fighting under the pink banner of the flayed man. Traitors. Cowards. But they were many and clever. 

Spearmen hemmed her in. Archers stood behind. As she tried to break through the wall of steel, her axe flashing, their spears struck and arrows fell upon her, finding gaps in her armor, bursting weak links. 

She’d like to think she’d died a death worthy of a song. But she knew it was a lie, even as her heart beat its last. They were too experienced, too professional. Her blade only found flesh twice before her life’s blood watered the roots of the weirwood, her vision turning to black.

Then there was light and she saw things as if floating on a cloud through a prism of color. Winterfell was burning as the deep winter snows were falling. Boltons, Freys, Ryswells, Umbers, Karstarks, Manderlys and even more house banners hung in a ruined Stark hall, feasting, celebrating a marriage to a false Stark. A battle in the snow, a scarred man she barely recognized as Jon Snow, King Jon she realized, leading an army of wildlings and mountain clans against the traitor houses. Victory, then the Long Winter.

Battle after battle, won. The war steadily lost. No skill at arms could defeat the icy bite of winter, the inexorable pangs of starvation. Men fell and rose again, eyes glowing blue.

Then came dragons and hope, but dragon battled dragon and both armies burned. Hope turned to despair.

She saw one last battle, Jon clad in black and red, sword in one hand and axe in another. He shouted encouraging but indistinct words to the pitiful remnants of the North, near dead, gaunt, half-starved warriors who could barely walk. She saw with pride some of her daughters, women grown, stood among them. They lifted their weapons, sword, spear and axe, and they howled their defiance at the White Walkers. 

Brave to the last, they charged into a sea of the dead, and died fighting. And then rose again with glowing blue eyes and began the march south.

Maege Mormont woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. She looked about frantically, her heart beating rapidly. 

Her body was covered in sweat, her heart filled with rage. An axe rested against the bed. She took it in her hands, grasping it tightly, looking for enemies, creatures with eyes of glowing blue. 

The full moon cast its light down into her room, the shutters wide open to let the cool ocean breeze in. Her husband, Olyvar, looked at her with concern. His brown eyes were blinking rapidly.

Brown eyes, she thought relieved. Thank the gods for brown eyes. 

“Maege, are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. He paid no attention to the axe in her hand and made no effort to take up the sword leaning on his side of the bed.

Her only response was to drop her axe and embrace her husband. A desperate embrace which turned to a kiss and a kiss which turned into much more. She needed to feel alive after feeling cold and dead. She was not to be denied.

Not that Olyvar was inclined to deny her. His short cut hair and short cut beard were both already turning grey, but he remained just as strong and as virile the day they wed.

Later, much later, she felt far better, resting in Olyvar’s embrace. The sense of dread and loss was receding into the back of her mind. It was just a dream. Olyvar was always able to distract her from her troubles.

She had thought that the only man on Bear Island who could throw her wrestling was a fine choice for a husband. But her brother, then Lord of Bear Island, had not approved of the match. 

He’d argued with her for days, claiming they had nothing in common. She was loud and boisterous, he was calm and quiet. She was tall and solidly built, while he was even taller and thin as a reed, all bone and muscle. She loved the smell of earth and pine, he loved the smell of the sea and oak. She was noble, and he was common, which Maege thought was his true complaint. 

Finally, he’d abandoned persuasion and tried to forbid the match. She could find a better suitor, he claimed. She’d disagreed.

But Jeor was overprotective and stubborn. He’d posted guards to hold her confined within the walls of Mormont Keep. So she’d beaten them senseless and escaped by lowering a rope over the walls.

The day after, she’d wed Olyvar before a heart tree deep within the forests of Bear Island. They built a hut near a stream and lived off his fishing and her hunting. She hadn’t returned to the home of the Mormonts until she was pregnant with their second child. Her husband kept his hands free, and she held an axe in one hand and held Dacey in the other as she explained the new reality to Lord Jeor.

Her brother glared and shouted. She glared and shouted back. Olyvar ignored them both, contenting himself with taking Dacey away from the shouting. 

Until one day Jeor shouted something he shouldn’t have at Olyvar. To this day, neither Olyvar nor Jeor would tell her what was said. They’d fought, Jeor had lost, ending with her husband shoving her brother’s head into a bucket of cold water. 

Maege laughed when she heard. For a thin reed, Olyvar knew a lot of tricks, which both greatly pleased her and greatly irritated her. In more ways than one.

After that, Jeor approved of the marriage but only on condition he took the Mormont name. Olyvar couldn’t care less about the name, as he had five other brothers and innumerable uncles and cousins to carry on his own, assuming they as smallfolk cared about such things. They didn’t.

She had always thought it amusing that a man from a family with so many boys had given her five daughters and no sons. Though with daughters like hers, who needed sons?

There were many on the mainland who could not comprehend why she’d chosen to marry a commoner. She’d grown tired of explaining her belief that birth proved nothing about a man’s worth. That her man proved his worth daily with his swords, one of steel and other given by the gods. They’d always grimaced and argued, invariably saying something insulting. Then she’d be compelled to hurt them, and she did. It was tiring.

So instead she started talking about Mormont women being skinchangers and mating with bears in the woods. That caused the mainlanders to flinch and move away, leaving her in peace. Which suited her just fine.

She snuggled closer into Olyvar. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

“Now do you want to tell me what this is about?” he asked in that slow and steady way of his to which she had become so enamored.

So she told him. As she spoke she realized that a lot of the details had already escaped her. There was a war. Robb Stark was made king and betrayed. He’d made Jon Snow his heir. He’d fought against impossible odds, betrayed at every turn by houses which should have been firm allies. Then the army of the dead. The final defeat of the North. 

She shivered as she spoke, running her cold hands through his chest hair to stay warm. When she was done, he hummed in contemplation.

“And this was just a nightmare?”

She nodded, even as the cold and dread inched their back into her bones. He noticed something was amiss and slowly caressed her back, his fingers lingering on an old scar, given courtesy of a Crownlands archer.

“Yes, but it seemed real,” she admitted. She blinked away tears as she suddenly recalled Lyanna being impaled on a spear, only for her to pull it deeper into her body so she could get close enough to take the head of a blue-eyed monster with a blade of obsidian. She shuddered even as she felt a fierce pride in the ferocious death of her dream daughter, who was only just an infant now.

“The worse ones do,” he agreed placidly. “What do you want to do about it?”

She cocked her head up so she could look into his warm brown eyes. “Do about it? What do you mean? It was just a dream. A nightmare.”

He nodded in agreement. “And probably means nothing at all. But I know you. You’ll fret and fret and finally drive the rest of us to distraction. You’ll let it gnaw at you and then you’ll take it out on the rest of us. Better we deal with it now, give you something to do.”

She sat up. “And what should I be doing?” she demanded, irritated. She did not take her temper out on her family! She firmly pushed away some memories that suggested otherwise. They were only occasional outbursts of temper. It wasn’t a usual thing, she reassured herself.

“You tell me,” he replied calmly, ignoring her tone. “If the dream is a harbinger of things to come, what should we do?”

She leaned against his shoulder. “Prepare for winter. A long one. A very long one,” she said, with increasing energy as she warmed to the task. “Recruit and train men. A lot of men. Equip them. Improve the fortifications.” She gnawed on her lower lip distractedly. “Trust no one except the Starks. There were far too many traitor houses.” She named them, at least the ones she could remember, her voice thick with contempt. 

He nodded in agreement. “More fishing and more farming means we need more men. More men means we need more land under cultivation. Where do we get the men?”

She considered it as her hand stroked his strong arm. It was more to calm her nerves than it was to show appreciation for him, but he didn’t appear to mind. The North was a vast place and largely empty. She closed her eyes as she envisioned a map of Westeros.

“The mountain clans for the men,” she finally offered. “They’re close and always have too many mouths to feed. We’ll take them off their hands.” She stilled for a moment, as if recalling something largely forgotten. “And in the dream they stayed loyal to the very end.”

He paused before agreeing, after turning her answer over in his mind. He pulled her hand to his lips, giving it a soft kiss. “When we have them, where do we put them?”

“Sea Dragon Point. It’s empty but rich,” she replied, naming a spit of land south of Bear Island across the Bay of Ice. “It's close and we can reinforce each other by ship,” she added distractedly, as he shifted his body to bring his lips closer to her ear.

“Lord Stark controls Sea Dragon Point. Why would he allow us to settle people there?” he whispered as he nibbled on her ear, still trying to distract her. She almost let him.

That was a good question, she thought, annoyed with herself. Ned wasn’t just going to allow them to build settlements without his leave.

She tucked her cold feet under his much warmer legs. He didn’t even flinch, having long ago become accustomed to his husbandly duties.

“Because it benefits him,” she responded slowly. “He’d benefit with the building of a new settlement, with a new lord. They’d owe taxes and service. He’d be a fool to say no.”

He smiled at her. “There is no House more loyal than Mormont. We fought for him against the Mad King. We’ve,” she warmed considerably, hearing him identify himself as a Mormont, “stood with the Starks since the founding of our House. Ask for Sea Dragon Point, Lady Mormont. Pledge your loyal service. Jorah will support expanding the House.”

This could work, she thought to herself. Establishing a cadet branch of the Mormonts across the Bay would likely meet with Lord Stark’s approval. He had precious little reason to say no.

“I’ll speak with Jorah tomorrow. If he agrees, I’ll travel to Winterfell,” she announced decisively.

He looked wounded. “You’d forsake me in favor of weeks of traveling to visit a pile of rocks? Abandoning me with five she-devil daughters, two of them infants? What have I done to warrant such a slight?” he asked, in mock pain.

She purred as she pulled him closer. “Duty calls, husband. But let me make it up to you.”

They didn’t get much rest that night, but she was still energetic enough to discuss the plan with her nephew, the Lord of Bear Island. Jorah approved it quickly. He was still not used to being the head of the family, and so deferred to his aunt far too much, though Maege appreciated it in this instance. 

She took a small party of a half dozen with her to Winterfell. She stopped and exchanged pleasantries with the Glovers of Deepwood Motte. She felt a pang, remembering Galbart’s dream death. It was reassuring to lift a tankard with him and laugh. All was well. At least for now.

She avoided the Umbers. She’d never suspect that House would ever turn traitor. The Greatjon seemed far too staunch for that. But they had. 

It was then she realized that she was taking the nightmare seriously. She knew it was ridiculous, it was only a product of her fevered imaginings, but she couldn’t shake the sense it was real. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if the Umbers had the right to her company. She could visit with whom she chose. She chose not to visit with them.

She arrived at Winterfell almost three weeks after she started. She was in luck. Lord Stark was in residence and would see her.

She last saw Ned years ago, when the Tyrells had lowered their banners at Storm's End. Before that she’d stood with him shoulder to shoulder at the Trident, fighting in the waters of the Ruby Ford. The armies of the Mad King broke and fled that day. Those were good memories.

He rose to greet her when she entered his solar. “Maege,” he said, welcoming her warmly. “What brings you to Winterfell?”

“Sea Dragon Point,” she responded bluntly. She saw him blink and pressed forward. “Lord Jorah has given me consent to establish a cadet House on the mainland. I’d like to settle it there. It’s good land. I’d provide good and loyal service.”

He leaned back, a frown crossing his face. “I don’t doubt your loyalty or good service. There are none I trust more. But I’d been considering granting the Point to one of my sons, when they came of age.”

“Which?” One of the good things about being a Mormont, she thought, was that no one expected much in the way of pleasantries. Direct and to the point was the Mormont way.

Ned’s face normally looked as if it were carved from ice. Now, however, a brief smile crossed his face. Maege liked it. She suspected that Lady Catelyn would like to see it more.

“Jon,” he replied with a short laugh. “Or maybe I’ll resettle the New Gift and give Jon a holding there, if I have another son. Bran’s to have Moat Cailin, when he’s grown.” 

Maege nodded in approval. “All good ideas. But mine’s better. Give it to me and I’ll start building a keep within a moon. Give it to me, and I’ll marry one of my daughters to Jon Snow and name them both and their children my heirs.”

Ned’s face closed off at her mention of marrying Jon to one of her daughters. “Jon’s place is here, in Winterfell,” he said forcefully.

She raised her eyebrow at her liege lord. “You said a moment ago that you’d grant him the Point. That’s a good idea. We should start work now, and not wait until he’s old and grey.” She gave him a hard stare. “And his place is not in Winterfell. He belongs to all of the North.”

He looked slightly abashed. “Forgive me. Jon is young and I had not given a lot of thought to his marriage. You caught me by surprise.”

She snorted. “He’s eight. In the blink of an eye, he’ll be married or run off with some sweet thing. You should start thinking of possible futures now, while you have time and options.” She hesitated, a troubling thought crossing her mind. “Or is it that my girls aren’t good enough for your bastard?”

“Of course not!” he exclaimed, looking shocked. “Your daughters are fine ladies and would make any man proud to take one as a wife.”

“Good,” she said decisively. “Jon will be a man or a decade or so. If my daughters are good enough for any man, they should be good enough for him. Take your pick, though I recommend not selecting Alysane. I love her, but she’s only interested in two things, spears and boys, and the interest in boys will only grow worse. I suspect she’ll find herself in a family way sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean.”

Ned cupped his forehead in his hand. “You won’t be deterred, will you?” he said, half laughing and half despairing.

“No,” she admitted, suppressing a flash of triumph. “If you refuse me, I’ll play the part of a spearwife and snatch him out of your castle this very evening. It’d be better if you work with me on the details.”

This time Ned did laugh. It was a good laugh, Maege thought admiringly. Lord Stark spent too much time acting the lord and not enough time acting a man.

“Which daughter do you recommend then, Lady Maege?” he asked humorously. 

“Dacey is six years older, but she’s the best of them. And six years is not much in the scheme of things. There will come a time she’ll even appreciate having a younger man for a husband, though she might not appreciate it while he’s only a boy.”

“Avoid Alysane. She’s a good girl, brave and loyal, but as I said, she has a bit of a wandering eye at the moment.”

“Lyra is a good choice, and is of age with Jon, but all she cares about are horses and the tiltyard. I don’t see that changing for a long while.”

“Lyanna and Jorey are just wee things, peas in a pod, each already fiercer than all the others combined. But unless he wants to wait a decade and more for one of them to become a lady in truth, he’ll marry another.”

He gave another short laugh. “So Jon’s choices are Dacey and Lyra?”

She nodded in agreement. “Pick Dacey. She’s older and she’ll have to wait, but she’s steady and reliable, equally at home in a dress or in mail. Lyra will make any husband of hers miserable.” She paused for a moment. “And it makes it easier to pass Sea Dragon Point onto Jon, if you grant it to me. There will be less resentment if he marries my heir.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said respectfully. “You make a compelling argument.”

She shook her head sadly. “You still want to hold the boy close. You aren’t protecting him, Ned. The world is a hurtful place. It is especially hurtful to highborn bastards without family. Let me give him a family. Let me build him a home, while he’s still young enough to enjoy a childhood in it.”

“He has a family,” he ground out frostily, his former good cheer gone.

“He has a father. He has brothers and sisters. But he is set apart from them all the same. He has no mother.” She had a dim recollection from her dream. She decided to play a hunch. “That’s a mystery far too many are picking at, by the way.”

His expression froze into a carefully crafted expression of disinterest. She might have thought it true, except for the whitening of his knuckles as he squeezed a colored stone he’d subconsciously picked off the table.

“The North is often a dreary place. Not much to do except prepare for winter and gossip. I know every man in the North, and I think every man in the Seven Kingdoms, is speculating as to who his mother might be, comparing notes, making bets.”

This time Ned did not bother to pretend disinterest. His face paled. “Why would they do such a thing?”

“Ned,” she said with a sigh. “Are you really that out of touch? You are one of seven great lords. All eyes are on you. You raise your bastard next to your trueborn children, insulting your wife, the daughter of another great lord. You hide the identity of his mother. People love mysteries. Of course, people are curious. Of course, they will pry.”

He seemed almost panicked. “I’ve heard nothing,” he said, obviously distressed.

“You haven’t been particularly open on the subject, so why would they approach you?” She decided to stop playing with him. “House Mormont doesn’t care who his mother is. We care only that he has Stark blood. And if you want the gossip to stop, you need to get him out of your shadow and away from Winterfell. Let me do that for you, let me give him a life.”

He groaned. “It isn’t that simple,” he complained.

“Of course it is,” she rebutted. “Do what other highborn lords do with their bastards when they reach a similar age. Send him out to be a page and squire. Make a marriage for him and send him away. Do that and they’ll forget him. Then he’ll be just another bastard. Keep him close and they’ll notice. Tongues will wag.”

He stared off vacantly, lost deep in thought. “Send him to Lord Jorah?”

“He is one of the best warriors in the North,” she replied smugly, not even attempting to conceal her pride in her nephew’s skills. “He’s far more skilled and loyal than most.”

He swallowed. “You’ll protect him?”

“If he’s to marry my daughter, he’ll be my son. I’d give my life for my children, including yours if you make him mine.” Her eyes were steady and certain as she spoke. She knew the truth of her words, it was up to him to hear it.

He stayed still for long, troubling moments before finally breathing in deeply. “Sea Dragon Point is yours, Lady Maege. Jon will serve as a page and then squire to Lord Jorah. I’ll send silver and craftsmen to help you build up the Point. Consider them Dacey’s bride price. Her dowry will be the Point upon Jon’s marriage. Maester Luwin will draw up the papers.”

She smiled, a real genuine thing. It seemed to set Lord Stark at ease. The cold that had permeated her bones seemed to recede a small bit. It felt good.

“Thank you for my son, Lord Stark,” she replied with real emotion. He did not resist when she pulled him into a smothering embrace.

W&B W&B W&B

AN: Don’t expect fast updates on this. I know where it’s going but I have a lot of story ideas in my head and like writing wherever my fingers take me. My focus for the moment is Ser Jon, Lord of Castamere.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Song of Ice and Fire series. ASoIaF is owned by George R.R. Martin. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

W&B W&B W&B

It had been several days since Lord Stark had announced that Jon would be leaving for Bear Island. Reactions had been mixed. 

Lady Stark had been ecstatic, planting a kiss on infant Bran’s forehead the moment it was announced, her face flushed with victory. She’d done nothing but smile since then. She was obviously deeply satisfied with Jon leaving Winterfell to serve as Lord Mormont’s page on Bear Island. She was even more pleased to hear that he’d eventually be given a holding even farther away on the Sunset Sea. A holding that would be guarded by a mere wooden keep, nothing that a true lord would possess. 

At least in her mind, Maege snorted contemptuously. Sea Dragon Point might be remote, but it was strategically located. It was rich in natural resources. Lady Stark’s ignorance of the North shone through with her dismissal of Jon’s eventual inheritance. Jon would prosper as lord of the Point.

Robb, Ned’s heir, had been devastated. He and Jon were thick as thieves, on and off the practice yard. He’d vocally protested his brother leaving, even pleading with his father to change his mind. When he was refused, the eight year old lordling spent half his time crying (not that he’d ever admit it) and the other half spending every available moment in play with his brother. 

Maege’s heart truly ached for Robb. She’d assured Ned that the two boys would see each other at least once a year. It was a promise she meant to keep. If her dream was a foretelling, a good solid relationship between the two was vitally important if the North was to survive what was to come.

Sansa was young, but bright. She appeared to understand that Jon was moving away which made her sad. She gave him constant hugs, more as an effort to make herself feel better, Maege half suspected. She was also happy that he’d be a lord, and had taken to making smiling curtsies whenever he walked by. This caused Jon to blush and stumble, which only appeared to encourage the young girl to continue with her playful teasing. 

Maege thought that Sansa had a lot of spirit. It would be a shame if her mother and the septa crushed it with their southern ways.

Arya’s reaction was worse than Robb’s. The three year old had clung remorselessly to Jon’s leg, blubbering and begging him not to go. The first crack in Jon’s stoic facade appeared then. He picked his little sister up and rubbed noses with her. He promised he’d be her brother forever. He then distracted her by offering to let her play with his wooden sword. She promptly accepted it and used it to threaten him as she chased him around the castle.

It was all so heartbreaking. Maege reassured herself that if the dream was true, it was necessary. If not true, Jon would at least be a lord and would still see his siblings from time to time.

Jon himself had not reacted when Ned announced the news. He stood there as Ned spoke, his face shadowed and guarded all the while. When his father had offered an embrace, he’d returned it silently before running off to join Robb. 

His reaction, or rather lack of reaction, had made Maege frown. It was not right that a boy of eight would be so closed off emotionally. She suspected that Lady Stark had a lot to answer for, though she could point to nothing specific. Other than her reaction to the news, that is.

Privately, in her innermost traitorous thoughts, she also assigned some of the blame to Ned. He was the Lord of Winterfell. If his son feared expressing himself in his own home and around his own family, it was ultimately his lord father's responsibility.

Maege had been waiting for the boy to seek her out following Ned’s decree. In the meantime, she inventoried the promised supplies and organized the wagons. Ned had been more than generous with men and supplies. It just took time to gather them all.

After several days of work, when her head began to clear, it gradually began to dawn on her that Jon was far too reserved to take the initiative in reaching out. So she put down the parchments containing the inventory, deciding that a dozen barrels of nails weren’t going anywhere any time soon. She began her own search.

It took some time, but she eventually found the boy in the godswood. He was seated at the base of the heart tree, his back resting against it, his wooden practice sword resting across his knee. His long face looked serious and somber. His eyes were closed and his mouth moved in silent words.

She had to smile as she crouched down to patiently wait for him to finish praying. He was a Stark through and through, she observed with pleasure. She remembered many times his father had done exactly as Jon was doing now, complete with a sword across his legs. He was Eddard Stark in miniature.

She didn’t have to wait too long until he opened his grey eyes. He gave a start as he noticed he was being observed. 

“Peace, Jon,” Maege said gently as she raised her hand in a calming gesture. “I thought it time we talked.”

He stood and dipped his head in respectful acknowledgement. “Lady Mormont,” he said quietly. 

There was no inflection in his tone. Maege frowned again. Her frown deepened when she saw a small, quickly concealed flinch. 

“You are to be my goodson. You can call me mother or, if you are angry with me, Maege. You don't need to call me Lady Mormont.” She suspected he desperately wanted a family, but likely thought he didn’t deserve one. To change that perception, she would have to convince him that he was wanted, that he was valuable, that he was loved. All of that would take time. Starting now.

He gazed back impassively as her eyes gazed into his. He did not speak.

She paused to consider her next steps, then moved to stand beside him. Some would proceed cautiously, taking small incremental steps, but not a Mormont. Besides, he needed to be treated as a boy, her son, not a king in the making.

She sat beside him, her back against the heart tree. She patted the ground next to her. “Please, Jon, sit.”

He hesitated for a moment, then took a seat next to her. It did not escape her notice that he placed his wooden practice sword between the two of them. His hand stayed close by.

She suppressed a smile. He was already showing a warrior’s instincts. She pulled her axe out of her belt and placed it on her side furthest from Jon. She pretended to ignore his small blush.

“Where’s Robb? I thought the two of you would be running about.”

Jon’s eyes gazed off into the distance. “He’s with his lady mother. He’s learning about his mother’s family.”

Maege did not miss the note of longing in his voice. She did not understand why Ned refused to speak of the boy’s mother. She assumed he had a good reason but for the life of her she couldn’t think of a scenario where his recalcitrance to speak of her made any sense.

When her hand covered his, he tried to pull away. She held it tight. “Who am I?” she asked softly.

He looked confused. “You’re Lady Mormont.”

“And?” she probed.

“The Lady of Sea Dragon Point?” he offered cautiously.

She sighed. “And?”

There was a pause, and then his eyes widened. He swallowed. “My good-mother?” he asked, hesitantly and without any assurance.

She smiled at him warmly. “Exactly. Look at me and say it.”

“You're my mother,” he said with more assurance. A calculating look came into his eye. She suppressed another smile. He was a clever one. “Are you really my mother? My birth mother?” This time he sounded considerably bolder. And more hopeful.

She sighed and put her arm around the boy’s shoulders. He tensed and gripped his wooden sword, but she pretended not to notice. He was a skinny thing, all muscle and bone. It reminded her of Olyvar. Or a half feral cat. She suppressed a laugh.

Perhaps if they’d ever had a son, he’d be much like Jon. This time she did not suppress her smile.

“No, Jon. I’m not.” She genuinely was sorry. It was obvious to her that the boy needed a mother and father. Ned was too distant and the less said about Lady Catelyn the better. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you about your mother, Jon. I never met her,” she said gently as she pressed him close into her side. “But if I’m to be your mother now, I can tell you about my family.” His body was still stiff and unyielding. Nothing to do but to charge through. “Would you like me to tell you about your new family?”

She heard him swallow. “Yes,” he said awkwardly, as he tried to subtly pull away.

She didn’t let him go, instead she held him tight to her side. Unless she missed her mark, he was the solemn, melancholy type of boy. She knew the type of man. If left to his own devices, he’d never speak of his pain. He’d prefer to wander off alone and stare off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. He’d be unwilling to express his emotions, except for the occasional explosive bout of temper. 

She felt sorry for those men. They were far too common in the North.

If that was the type of man he grew to be, so be it. But in the meantime, starting today, she was going to be his mother even if she had to kick in the doors to his heart. No child of the Mormonts would ever think they were alone, that they had no one to talk to, no one to hold.

“The Mormonts are not the richest house, far from it. It would be fair to say we’re poorer than most. But King Rodrick Stark gave our family Bear Island centuries ago because we had courage and loyalty in abundance. We still do. Whenever the Starks call, the Mormonts march . . .,” she continued in this vein for hours, ignoring the boy’s tense muscles and then his small fidgets as he attempted to figure out a polite way to escape her side-long embrace. 

She didn’t give him the chance. She was just getting to the single combat between Lord Mormont and Mern V, the King of the Reach, which won House Mormont its Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw, when she felt him relax. Looking down, she saw he’d dozed off. She smiled again and kissed the top of his forehead.

She leaned back into the heart tree and closed her eyes. A nap didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

She woke a small time later to a slight tug under her leg. Before dozing she’d placed her leg over the blade on the wooden sword, reasoning he would be loath to leave it behind. She was glad to see she’d correctly anticipated him.

She stretched. “Did you have a nice nap, Jon?” She stifled a yawn. Too many weeks on the road and too many long days organizing the long trip back had taken more out of her than she realized.

“Going somewhere?” she asked in an amused tone when she noticed he’d moved just out of reach of her arm. He really didn’t like to be touched. She’d have to keep working on that, she thought as she stood.

“I promised I’d practice swords with Robb this afternoon,” he said defensively.

“And are you requesting my leave to go practice?”

He nodded, ducking his head just a bit.

“Three things, Jon. First, if you want to address me, be sure you use my name. Say it.”

He fidgeted, but finally, said, “mother,” half under his breath. She beamed in approval.

“Second, you’ll find that mothers and sisters can be very demanding when it comes to time and attention. We’re very nosy. We don’t like to be ignored.” She spread her arms wide. “Your mother would like a hug before you go.”

He blanched at that. Good. He was finally showing emotion. She smiled at him again and he hesitantly, slowly, moved to give her a hug. He’d obviously intended to quick one, but she gathered him in and held her there.

“Say it again, Jon,” she demanded as she planted her second kiss atop his hair.

He gave her a weary sigh as he weakly returned her hug. “May I have leave to go practice with Robb, mother?”

She lifted her foot off his practice sword, as she let him escape her embrace. “Of course, Jon.” 

He snatched up his sword as soon as it was free of her foot. 

“There is the third thing, Jon,” she said, fixing him with the eye Dacey claimed froze the blood in her veins. “Mormonts never bow their heads. Keep your chin high and always look the man you’re speaking to in the eye. Understood?”

He stopped his head bob midway. “Yes, mother,” he said almost reflexively as he both lifted his head and inched away. It was obvious he wanted to be gone.

“And I expect my son to sit at my side at the high table tonight.” Her tone was intentionally imperious. She wanted to see how he’d react to her most recent demand.

He swallowed, but resolutely looked her in the eye. Good, she thought, he’s learning. “Lady Stark won’t like that,” he said questioningly. When she increased the intensity of her glare, he added an awkward, “mother.” 

Her smile was almost predatory. “You’ll find, Jon, that there are many benefits to joining the Mormont family. One of which is we say what we think. We also don’t care for the opinions of southerners.”

The smile he gave her in return was wide and genuine. She tousled his hair and sent him on his way. It may have been her imagination, but his step was much lighter than she was used to.

Jon was right. Lady Catelyn was not best pleased when she sat her son next to her at the high table. Ned gave Jon a proud smile, which her son tentatively returned. Then being a small boy, he engaged Robb in an intense but hushed discussion. 

From what words she could pick up, she had no doubt as to the topic of their conversation. Whispered references to Aemon Dragonknight and Ser Barristan Selmy was more than a sufficient hint. Boys had long compared their heroes and argued over which was greater, as if it were a mystery only they could resolve. 

As do girls, she thought, remembering an overheard conversation between Dacey and Alysanne, arguing which was greater, Queen Nymeria or Visenya Targaryen. Personally, Maege favored Nymeria in that debate. If only because she wasn’t a kinslayer.

The following days were a blur of activity. They were finally ready to leave five days later. Jon was the proud owner of a garron gifted to him by his father. He’d named him Rusher as it was always so eager to run.

There were tears at Jon’s parting. Ned had to take Arya to prevent her from bodily restraining Jon, his gift of his wooden sword to her being insufficient this time to quell her crying. Robb’s eyes were wet, though he did not cry. Jon’s demeanor mirrored Robb’s. Sansa gave her brother one last curtsy before throwing herself into his arms, begging him to write. He agreed, awkwardly patting her on the back.

Lady Catelyn did not make an appearance. Neither did the infant, Bran, who remained in his mother’s care. Maege’s already limited respect for Ned’s wife plummeted further, though her respect for her liege lord had increased beyond what she thought possible.

Maege had arrived at Winterfell with six Mormont men at arms. Ned had asked for volunteers among his armsmen, and more than twenty had stepped up. They were all veterans of Robert’s Rebellion. Each was known to Maege as reliable, tested men. Though they were older, Maege thought he’d given her the best of his men.

He’d also armed and armored them, providing each with a horse, all at his expense. They would not be returning, each now wearing Mormont colors. He’d provided another hundred shields, spears and axes to expand their forces once settled. She was leaving with a much stronger force than she arrived with, one that she was capable of growing, all thanks to a father trying to do his best for his natural son. 

Which was a relief, as nearly fifty wagons and carts were accompanying them. The wagons were filled with supplies thought suited to the Point. Maester Luwin had advised that tubers and other root vegetables, onions, assorted berries, and cherry and apple trees, were the best crops to grow in the soils and climate around the Point. Ned had been generous with seed and cuttings for a variety of potential crops, as well as a small herd of cattle to get agriculture started at the Point. He promised more to follow, a pledge of assistance Maege found overwhelming. 

The wagons were also packed with hammers, picks, shovels, axes, saws, adzes, planes, awls and a variety of other tools necessary to build a keep and establish a village. They’d be of great use to the near dozen stonemasons and carpenters, Ned had loaned her. 

They would be invaluable in building the keep, which was already in progress. Jorah’s raven had advised her that Olyvar and over a hundred Mormont men had already made camp at the Point and were busy felling trees and moving earth, so hopefully she would not need to monopolize these skilled men’s time more than necessary. She did not want to take too much advantage of Ned’s generosity.

Also accompanying them were her first smallfolk. Well over three score families had been gathered from Stark lands. They were almost all younger sons and their wives looking to establish their own farms, hoping to avoid the fate of being a paid laborer for an older brother or uncle. Ned had been generous to each of them, making small gifts which would assist them in getting started in their new lives.

Including Timmon, a grandson of Mikken, Winterfell’s smith, his wife and their two daughters. He had learned his trade at his grandfather’s knee, but wanted independence and the chance to establish his own forge. One wagon was packed with the material he’d need to establish his own forge, a gift from his proud but scowling grandfather. His presence was a blessing from the gods, Maege thought, a smith who could forge castle steel.

She had been pleased when looking over her party. They were exactly the sort of loyal but ambitious men she was hoping to attract.

She knew more would be on the way, as Ned had sent ravens to all his bannermen. He’d asked for any volunteers and any extra mouths to be sent to the Point, promising them land and room to practice their trades. He’d also requested that gifts of any spare supplies be sent to best ensure the success of the endeavor.

Maege knew that a request from Ned would be taken as an order by his bannermen. Even the traitor houses, she thought, suppressing a scowl, would endeavor to outdo their neighbors in an effort to feign their loyalty.

Those ravens were his most precious gift, she knew. Even more precious than the chest of silver he’d gifted her which she kept concealed and locked in the sturdiest wagon.

She’d succeeded beyond her wildest imaginings. When she’d left Olyvar for Winterfell she’d merely hoped for the grant of the Point and Jon for one of her daughters. Ned had done far more. He’d already half made Jon a true lord, she thought with a warm glow. And if the clans and others answered the call, he might become even more.

She pulled even with Jon at the front of the column. An armsman was on the other side of Jon. Maege had noticed that an armed man was always in close proximity to her son. She presumed it must be on Ned’s orders.

“Are you ready to go home, son?” she asked with an exuberant smile, half laughing. It made her heart lift to see his return smile. She felt ready to burst with pride when she saw he was wearing a green surcoat with the black Mormont bear stitched on it. When she spurred her horse, he did the same keeping pace with her.

When the Long Night comes, she vowed, House Mormont would stand ready.

W&B W&B W&B

AN: Jon’s horse’s name of ‘Rusher’ is taken from the name of Roland’s horse in Steven King’s Dark Tower series.

AN: I think Sea Dragon Point sounds close to what Oregon would be like, at least in my imagination. So I based what crops they’d grow off of the internet’s opinion of what Oregon does for agriculture. As the world of ASOIAF does not have potatoes, I omitted them from description, but carrots, beets, radishes, onions and turnips appear to be a thing.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Song of Ice and Fire series. ASoIaF is owned by George R.R. Martin. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

W&B W&B W&B

The road was long and slow with so many in their train. Maege was half tempted to abandon the caravan in favor of speed but restrained herself. She was the Lady of Sea Dragon Point and Jon was its someday Lord. It was important that they be seen protecting their people.

It also helped to get to know them. Within a week both she and Jon were on a first name basis with most, though they insisted on tacking on ‘Lady’ in front of her name. Her insistence that things were done differently in Mormont holdings was respectfully ignored. 

Jon had expressed his amusement at her frustration, until he overheard himself being referred to as the ‘Little Lord’. Maege had to chuckle. Boy or man, no male appreciated being called ‘little’.

When they finally turned west off the King’s Road, Maege was surprised to find an encampment. More than a score of wagons and carts were formed in a protective circle. While it was arranged as a place of refuge, it did little to contain the people it was meant to protect, as their numbers were overflowing. 

Three fires were being tended, as a group of hunters with two deer strung up on poles entered the camp to a hero’s welcome, Children were running about playing, chasing dogs and being chased. Women wandered picking berries and wild tubers. Maege was pleased that at least some were armed, though most were not. 

It looked all the world to Maege as if an entire holdfast had picked up and moved. She didn’t know what to make of it.

A half dozen armed men mounted on mountain ponies patrolled. They’d noticed Maege’s caravan almost immediately and spurred toward her.

She recognized one of the men. Older, grey and grizzled, with a face and hands which were cross-crossed with scars.

“Harlaw?” she asked, surprised. “Harlaw Norrey?” He’d once paid court to her when he was looking for a second wife, at her brother’s insistence, but she’d disliked his temper and dark moods. She sometimes had the same temper and was just as moody, so she was sure she’d have likely gutted him if they’d ever wed.

The man flashed her a lopsided smile. Several of his teeth were missing. A number of the rest were black and broken. Harlaw Norrey was a known warrior. His face and hands bore testament that he was a man who gave hard knocks and never flinched from receiving them in turn. 

“The one and the same,” he replied with an amused laugh. She noticed the laugh did not reach his eyes. She kept her hand near her axe. It was wise to be wary of men such as Harlaw. “Though if you accept me and my men, I’ll be the Norrey of Sea Dragon Point and you’ll be the Maege.”

She should have known. This was her first evidence of the true value of Ned’s gift of ravens. She gave him a level look. “I think we need to talk.”

“Aye.”

It took a good while to get her wagons formed in a protective circle, namely as it was the first time she’d attempted it. She could have kicked herself when she saw Norrey’s. And his use of outriders. The man took no chances, even if deep in the North supposedly surrounded by friends.

Maege appreciated the reminder. She’d been floating on a cloud since she’d left Winterfell and she’d needed a kick to bring her back to reality. Hard times were coming and good habits needed to be developed now. Especially if she was to teach young Jon how to be a proper lord and warleader. 

Once her people were situated, and after she’d silenced the grumblers, she collected Jon before heading over to meet Harlaw. “Watch what he does, Jon,” she instructed. It was only as she moved toward his camp that she noticed a half dozen archers in the tree line. She pointed them out to the boy. “The man’s been fighting wildlings and other clans for nearly three decades. He’s someone to learn from.”

Jon nodded solemnly in reply. She smiled when she saw him hesitantly reach up to take her hand, only to quickly pull away when he realized what he was doing. Over the last several days, he’d been initiating small physical touches. A quick hug here, a pat there. Nothing prolonged. 

Yesterday when they’d established camp, he’d held her hand as they walked among their people. It was a small thing, but one which made her heart glow. 

Now he obviously wanted to hold her hand, but thought he shouldn’t. She suspected he wanted to appear brave. He didn’t want to be seen seeking comfort from a woman when meeting a new, fearsome lord. 

She was all in favor of boys being brave, especially her boy. She was also in favor of her children taking her hand. So she moved to his other side and took his hand. She was careful to keep her weapon hand free, and her axe loose in its scabbard.

He turned red with embarrassment, and looked away from her. “Jon, it’s never wrong to show affection to those you care about. Just make sure you’re always ready to protect them.” She waved her free hand at him to attract attention and then placed it on her axe head. She saw his eyes widen in understanding. “Your enemies will always try to hurt you through the ones you love.”

He looked pointedly at his sword hand, which was now held in her off hand. “I can’t protect you, mother, if you’re holding my hand, can I?” He didn’t pull away but seemed at a loss as he reached across his body to the long dagger on his hip. He obviously didn’t like the awkward draw.

She stopped him and knelt to be on his level. “It’s a parents’ job to protect their children while they’re growing, Jon. You can protect me and Olyvar when we’re old, grey and weak.” She kissed his forehead. She was proud of how the boy thought. Ned Stark had done well raising him. “You’re still growing. Let me worry about protecting you now. You worry about growing stronger.”

The return look he gave her was skeptical. “Or I could just wear a second knife,” he opined slyly, mimicking her as he waggled his left hand before resting it on his empty belt riding his left hip. 

She had to laugh. Was it all boys who clamored for sharp blades or only her own?

“A second knife it is, Jon,” she promised, trying to keep her grin in check.

When she stood and resumed their progress toward Norrey’s protective ring, he didn’t try to pull away. She thought he might even be standing somewhat taller. She felt her heart melt looking at him. He was truly a little lord.

She hated how the boy had obviously been starved for maternal affection. Left unchecked, it could sour all his future relationships. She wondered if the Night King had been this way. A dour, loved starved Stark who settled for the only thing that had ever shown him affection, an ice demon in a woman’s body.

She dismissed her fanciful thoughts. She needed to focus on building Jon’s strength and the strength of the North. Not on the Night King’s relationship, or lack of one, with his mother.

Norrey was flanked by two men when they arrived. He was crouching before a small fire, a pot with a bubbling stew hanging overtop. All three men had weapons close by, but not so close that they were obviously threatening. 

“Maege,” he greeted her warmly. “Share my fire.” He looked at Jon. “Your boy?”

She pulled Jon down to sit next to her. His muscles were tight under her arm. It was obvious he didn’t feel comfortable around strange men. That was alright. Norrey and his companions made her cautious too.

“Jon is my goodson,” she half agreed. “He’s pledged to my Dacey. He’s Lord Stark’s natural son.”

Norrey’s eyes sharpened with interest. “So he’ll have the Point someday?”

“Aye, when he weds my Dacey.” She accepted an offered battered tin bowl filled with stew from one of Norrey’s companions but handed it to Jon. “Eat,” she commanded her son.

She truly doubted Norrey intended anything nefarious. Ned’s grip on the North was firm and he tolerated no slights. He’d even torn down a king to avenge his family. But the North was filled with wild, fey folk. Ensuring guest right was simple prudence. 

Jon caught her meaning and promptly took a bite, using a chunk of bread as a spoon. He looked surprised. Then he took another and another. “This is good,” he said in genuine appreciation, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

Norrey laughed as he handed Maege another bowl. “I’m famous for two things; my blade and my hunter’s stew,” he boasted. He handed his companions bowls as well as they all settled in next to the fire. “There are worse things to build a reputation on.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jon smile at that. “Aye,” she agreed. She looked at the man across the fire. “Now let’s discuss your service.”

The next few hours were both frustrating and beneficial. Norrey haggled like a fish wife. Thankfully, her goodmother was a fish wife so she had his measure. Slowly, but surely they came to an agreement on the terms of his oath. 

Maege knew full well that he desperately wanted his own hall to escape his cousin’s authority. Brandon Norrey was a slight man, but he ruled his clan with an iron fist. Harlaw didn’t have many options other than House Mormont.

“Damn you, woman,” he finally growled in frustration. “You’re beggaring me!” His glare might have frightened a lesser warrior, but she was lesser to no one.

“Not hardly,” she replied drily. “Take comfort that your fellow chiefs will be swearing the same oath. I won’t have one rule for one bannerman and a different rule for another.”

He stared at her hard and long, before his face broke into a lopsided smile. “Well then,” he said, putting out his arm. “We have a deal.”

After she grasped his forearm confirming their agreement, the atmosphere noticeably lightened. Everyone in the camp burst out into a spontaneous celebration. A clear liquid brew of the Norrey clan was brought out and offered round.

Maege was very cautious with the Norrey’s home brewed alcohol. In her youth she’d traveled all over the North. She’d visited the clans more than once and had over imbibed their strange drink once or twice. It was potent stuff and she’d always regretted it. 

She made sure that Jon only took a mouthful. Enough to avoid offense, but too little for her son to take ill. Considering the coughing fit he suffered on his first and only effort, much to Norrey’s amusement, she doubted he’d be seeking it out again anytime soon.

She was not surprised to discover that the two men flanking Norrey were his sons. They had his look about them, just with fewer scars and more teeth. 

The same held true of the rest of the encampment. They were all relations, to a greater or lesser degree. The mountains that housed the Norrey clan had thin soil and was fit for only goats and sheep. It was a hard life. Stories of the richness of the Point had spread, and they all hoped for something better. They thought others might join them, if the stories proved true.

Their former chief, Brandon Norrey, was glad to see the back of them. It opened more pastures for those who stayed and he managed to rid himself of some malcontents. 

Harlaw Norrey was one of those malcontents. His grandmother had been an iron born reaver who’d been captured in a raid. Somehow she’d managed to avoid being killed out of hand and found herself a husband among the clansmen. Some of her grasping ways had been injected into her sons and grandsons.

Maege promised herself that she’d keep an eye on Norrey. If he honored his grandfather and father’s blood, he’d be a good man on their side in a fight. If he had more of his grandmother, then he’d be a problem. Maege touched her axe. She was a firm believer in dealing with problems sooner, rather than later.

Her caution with the Norrey brew proved wise the next morning. She and Jon were one of the few who woke with the sun, clear headed. 

“. . . and this, Jon,” she growled as she kicked another of her men awake, “is why you should always drink in moderation!”

Her son nodded solemnly in agreement, as he added his efforts to hers in getting their people up and moving. It was a very late start.

The days turned to weeks as they followed the southern coast of the Bay of Ice down, around and up toward Sea Dragon Point. As they moved they were overtaken by advance riders from other clans and houses, all seeking to negotiate terms. 

She gave them all the same terms she’d offered to Norrey. He appeared satisfied when she didn’t deviate and made no exceptions, no matter how they cajoled or brought up past friendships or family ties. 

She didn’t think what she was requiring was overly onerous. Ned had walked her through what each of his lords promised him and what their bannermen promised them, at least in broad strokes. Some of the additional minor details were strange, such as the Umbers’ promise to the Starks of an annual snowball made at the top of the Wall, but largely all his lords had the same basic obligations. 

Maege assumed they hoped she’d prove naive, as she was a newly minted lord, and they’d be able to take advantage. Fortunately, Ned had foreseen the effort and given her the information to safeguard her interests and Jon’s.

The Point was a long, wide peninsula which jutted into the Bay of Ice on one side and the Sunset Sea on the other. She suspected that it was easily twice the size of Bear Island, if not larger.

By the time she reached the tip of the Point, where her seat would be built, the size of their caravan had grown to nearly two hundred carts and wagons, and a large number of walkers leading mules, herding goats, sheep and cattle. 

More than half, she knew, would not be settling near her keep. Every clan and house wanted their own lands and some amount of freedom. Each had been sending out riders to explore the land on offer, each trying to find the most favorable location for their halls.

She was pleased to see that they were not disappointed. The Point was covered in hills and forests, dotted with lakes, and rivers and streams cross-crossed the landscape. There was something here for everyone.

Her outriders reported the location of the Mormont work crew a day before they arrived. When they did, the scene was breathtaking.

A long, wide, sloping, circular ditch had been built about two bow shots away from a beach which rested in a large sheltered cove. Numerous, large stacks of timber waited for placement. A half dozen fishing boats, small ones meant for one and two man crews, rested on the beach.

She suspected her husband intended to build a ringfort to protect their people. She approved his effort, even though it was now too small. He’d built for three times the number of people provided by Lord Stark. She’d had no way of letting him know they’d greatly increased their numbers as they traveled. 

To the right, the ground steadily rose until ending in a promontory. The cliff was heavily wooded. To her surprise, it was covered in a grove of weirwoods. Two streams poured off the eastern cliff face, creating two miniature waterfalls cascading into the bay below.

The reunion was joyous. Olyvar took her into his arms and spun her around. It took her a small while to force herself to separate from him. She’d truly missed him in the moons she’d been gone.

All of her daughters were present, from tall, thin Dacey, to the chubby little ones. Her girls made no effort to hide their emotions when they embraced her. Tears and laughter flowed as hugs and kisses were exchanged.

Jon stood there all the while, silent and obviously uncomfortable. Maege was embarrassed to admit she’d forgotten him in the heat of the moment.

She pulled him forward. “Olyvar, this is your new son, Jon.” 

Jon had learned at least his part of his lesson from Maege. He looked his goodfather in the eye as he spoke. “I’m pleased to meet you, my lord,” he said respectfully. 

Maege sighed. Boys were harder to train the girls, she suspected.

Olyvar laughed. “I’m no lord.” He ran a critical eye over Jon. “Well?” he said, flexing his arm to put his bicep on display, “let me see yours.”

Maege sighed again. Husbands were just as difficult to train as boys. 

Jon seemed unsure for a moment, then grinned as he flexed. He was scrawny and so there was only the barest thread of muscle visible. He twisted his face into a mad grimace as he continued to strain in a futile effort to make his bicep pop. 

Maege saw no improvement, though Olyvar laughed. “Well, done, boy,” he said as he tousled his hair, before patting him on the back.

The youngest two girls, Lyanna and Jorelle, were both taken with Jon. The toddler, Jorelle, gave his leg a hug when they introduced him as her brother. The infant, Lyanna, just burbled and grabbed his nose. She decided to interpret that as a good sign.

Lyra, who was of age with him, was more vocal. “Do you joust?” she asked bluntly.

Seeing his hesitant nod, she beamed. “Then you can meet me at the tiltyard.” She glanced around at the state of construction, or lack of it. She scowled. “Or you can when it’s finally built.”

Jon seemed to be finding his feet. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

She scoffed. “I’m no lady. I’ll be a knight someday,” she claimed. Her eyes challenged Jon to disagree. 

Thankfully, her son was cleverer than that. “Then we can be knights together. I’m to be a page to your uncle, Lord Jorah.”

“I know.” She glared at her mother. “I could be his page too.”

Maege decided to intervene. “That’s enough for now, Lyra. We’ve discussed this.”

Her middle child’s only response was to cross her arms and roll her eyes, before looking away. Maege arched her eyebrow at her husband. He’d obviously let discipline slacken in her absence. He shrugged as if to say, what could he do?

Alysane was polite when introduced. She hugged Jon briefly with a whispered, “brother,” before releasing him. It made Jon blush. Aly looked him over. “You need to eat more,” she said matter of factly.

Maege smiled fondly at the girl who reminded her so much of herself. She would be an excellent big sister. 

Dacey was charming, but distant, when she was introduced to Jon as her betrothed. As she gave Jon a quick hug, she shot her mother a look of disbelief as she stood more than a head taller than the boy she was expected to marry. Jon just looked lost.

Maege decided to nip that in the bud. “Dacey,” she said addressing her eldest sternly, “he’ll grow.” She put her arm on Jon’s shoulder. “If she gives you any grief, son, challenge her to a spar in the practice yard.” Dacey’s disbelief grew. Maege smiled widely at her. “Your intended is tough. You might be surprised at how hard you’d have to work to put him down.”

Jon seemed pleased to hear her praise, but his countenance was serious when he said to Dacey, “I hope I don’t disappoint you, my lady.”

She smiled wanly at him. “Please call me Dacey. And I look forward to meeting you in the practice yard.”

After the introductions were over, Maege and Olyvar sent the children off to get to know one another. They spent the rest of the day getting their people situated. 

Timmon quarreled briefly with a cooper as to where he’d set up his forge. Timmon won, which meant the cooper’s ruffled feathers had to be smoothed. Olyvar laughed at her efforts to play the diplomat.

The carpenters eagerly inspected the cut timber, while the masons and engineers divided into teams. One team headed up the promontory to inspect the cliffs, while another began measuring her husband’s ditch. They didn’t appear pleased.

All three groups agreed that the village needed more space, though the existing trench and timber could be used to form an inner ring. Two of the carpenters took charge of the existing work crew to begin construction.

An outer ring was paced off. They drove stakes into the ground to mark where they’d have to dig. The preliminary estimate was that they’d need a lot more timber than was on hand. Two more of the carpenters begin to assign work crews who were tasked with felling even more trees. Fortunately, they had no lack of forest to draw from.

The cutters, masons and engineers had their heads together the entire while. It was late in the day when they approached her. 

“We think we have found a suitable site for a fortress, Lady Maege,” said the senior engineer, a wizened man, the only hair on his head a wispy, snowy beard. “It seems ideal.”

Maege frowned. “My hall will be in the village.” She looked over the site. “Perhaps in what will be the inner ring.”

The engineer nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes, that will be fine,” he said impatiently. “But Lord Stark was precise in his instructions. We are to assist in building your village and hall. But we are to build the strongest keep possible for Lord Snow. We have selected the site.” He pointed up toward the promontory. “Would you like to see it before we begin laying out the design?”

Ned had said nothing of this to her. She had a suspicion that he’d been even more generous than she initially thought. She nodded numbly as the senior engineer led her up the promontory.

The weirwoods were silent and thick, their red leaves almost blocking the sun, Maege observed as they picked a path through the trees. Some might have found it ominous. Maege found it restful.

The promontory cliff that she’d observed from the beach had been largely obscured. It was actually two cliffs, or close to it. The mainland portion ended abruptly with a large drop, only for the land to swell back up forming an almost island-like peninsula. The upward approach appeared almost impassable.

The wizened engineer pointed to the almost island. “We can cut stairs into the rock,” he stated brusquely, “on both sides of the cliff face. It shouldn’t prove too difficult. Once we have secure access to the island, we can better assess our options.” He gestured to the north and west sides of the island. “We think we can cut down into the stone, forming natural walls on two sides.” He pointed to the southern side, closest to where they were standing. “We can link the island to the mainland with a rope bridge. We can also use a pulley system to haul additional stone and timber up if we decide on a landward approach.”

Maege stood quietly, thinking. This would cost money and time. Her eyes roamed the peninsula. She couldn’t deny the strength of the location. Even without erecting defenses, it would be difficult to attack. Waves crashed against three sides of the intended site, far below its summit.

“How much?” she finally asked.

The engineer waved his hand. “Lord Stark is paying. He instructed me to approve a site, with your consent. He’ll send additional men and material once I report to him.” He cocked his head at her. “Would Lord Mormont allow us the use of his ravens?”

She nodded as her head swam. This would make a strong castle. “How long?” she croaked. 

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. We’ll have to obtain access to the island first, then we can better evaluate. The masons and stone cutters will primarily work with me. The carpenters will focus on the village until we find a use for them.”

She agreed and the men resumed their intense discussions. They were acting like children who had been handed a bag full of candy. She left them to their work as she slowly headed back to the village site.

Lord Stark had not stinted in his bounty. With the people pouring in, she’d have a small town in a year or two at most. She wondered if the old gods were influencing him. Her ability to prepare for the Long Night had taken a massive upturn, with little effort on her part.

Days passed. The children got to know one another. The older three had taken to racing their horses against Jon’s Rusher. Sometimes they sparred with wooden swords and staves. Dacey and Aly dominated the younger two, of course, but she was pleased to see that her son never quit. He gave as good as he got, and never complained when he was knocked down or bruised. Her daughters were not the sort to coddle a brother. 

He’d make a fine Mormont, unless he chose to take another name when he came of age.

Dacey gradually warmed to Jon. She still cast her mother looks of consternation every now and then, but at least she was treating him as a younger brother and not a pariah. Maege thought she could build on that.

Jori worshiped the ground that Jon walked on. He was always giving her rides on his garron, heading any direction she cared to point. He’d won her undying loyalty as all three of her older sisters were too busy for the babies, as they put it.

While her children played, her people were in constant motion. Some were clearing fields for farmland, others fished, most cut timber and dug. It was exhausting work but no one complained over much.

She spent her days marking out boundaries for her bannermen. Fortunately, she had land to spare, and then some. It was also a blessing that the land was rife with landmarks. Clearly marking where one lord’s territory began and the next’s began required only a token effort.

Her nephew arrived two weeks after she did. Jorah seemed amazed at the activity. He seemed a little put out with the work being done on Jon’s keep, the stone cutters having made considerable progress toward the island’s summit. Maege thought his upset was more a matter that his social junior, his aunt, would eventually have a stronger hold than he himself held. Wisely, he said nothing.

He did seem to like the boy, to Maege’s relief. Jorah was as moody as she was sometimes. He was prone to snap judgements and rash decisions. Maege was grateful that he didn’t reject Jon as his page and eventual squire, though even a man as bullheaded as Jorah Mormont would not want to needlessly offend Lord Stark.

It wasn’t until Jorah returned to Bear Island with Jon that she had her first real experience of some of the problems that came with being both a lord and a mother. Each evening her people would gather around behind their ditches, bonfires lit, and dance and sing after a day’s work. 

She did not begrudge them their fun. They were all enduring back breaking labor. They’d earned some relaxation.

However, she was disturbed to see that one of Harlaw’s sons, Rill, she thought, was spending entirely too much time around Dacey. He was a decade her senior, tall, strong and handsome. Whether it was simple conversation, wild dances around the campfire, or walks along the beach, he was an obvious charmer. She understood why her daughter would not be opposed to being the object of his attention. 

It took her some time to divine what was happening. He was courting her. Both father and son had to understand how it looked. Both knew she was promised to Jon. Why he would do so took her a fair amount of time to unravel, but when she did she had to laugh.

Harlaw was a clever man. He obviously had a fair amount of his grandmother’s blood. He thought if Rill won Dacey, his son would one day be the Lord of Sea Dragon Point.

She briefly considered discussing the issue with Dacey. She put that thought quickly aside. Dacey was truly her daughter. Trying to separate her from Rill would only push her into his arms, much like her reaction to her brother’s efforts against Olyvar.

No, she decided, she needed to nip this in the bud at the source. Which is why she and a dozen of her men found themselves outside Harlaw’s half-built hall in the drizzling rain one early morning.

Harlaw had built his hall only two hours away on foot from her own. It was a tall, gloomy thing, long and wide, located on a broad hill, and surrounded by a deep ditch. Larger than was necessary for the numbers he’d brought with him, she observed. 

He must be anticipating more settlers from Clan Norrey. The thought pleased her.

He greeted her jovially when she dismounted. “Maege,” he cried, “it’s good to see you!”

She nearly cringed at his effort at false cheer. It was painfully obvious that Harlaw was not meant to be a plotter, which was actually a bit of a relief.

“It won’t work,” she said bluntly as she took a seat next to him at a far table. 

He seemed surprised. “What won’t work?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dacey and Rill.”

He was momentarily taken aback. Then his false cheer evaporated and he leaned forward, his eyes thunderous. “Are you forbidding my son from courting your daughter?” He seemed to loom as his voice took a dangerous edge.

She snorted. “No. I’ll support Dacey in whatever she wants to do.” She drank from the proffered tankard. It was a dark ale and quite good. She made a note to acquire some casks. “Taking Sea Dragon Point is what I was referring to,” she said calmly as she smacked her lips after taking another drink. The ale really was good. She wondered if she could steal his brewer away.

He leaned back again. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. 

Good. He’s listening, she thought.

“Lord Stark granted House Mormont the Point on condition that a daughter of House Mormont married a son of House Stark. Jon is the designated son.” She took another long pull as his eyes widened in realization. “If Rill steals Dacey away, Dacey loses her inheritance. Another Mormont daughter would have to be provided. If your kinsmen steals them all away, House Mormont will lose the Point after putting a lot of effort into developing it.” She put her tankard down. She had to resist asking for another. “Lord Stark wouldn’t likely take offense as Jon or another of his sons will still take the Point. House Mormont, on the other hand, would be wroth with you.”

She stood and looked down at her clever, but not overly so, bannerman. “If Rill truly desires Dacey, and she reciprocates, her dowry is twenty head of cattle or thirty sheep.”

He followed behind her as she left his hall and mounted her horse. She smiled at him. It was a genuine thing. She always enjoyed clearing the air. “Speak with your son about his intentions. Choose wisely, Lord Norrey.”

Rill cut ties with her daughter within the week. 

Dacey was inconsolable. Maege, however, was smugly satisfied as she held her daughter, comforting her. She murmured sympathetic nothings in her ear, secure in the knowledge that her daughter’s position would be strong, once the Long Night arrived.

W&B W&B W&B

AN: The Norrey alcohol is a rough form of whiskey.

AN: The tribute of an annual snowball was actually something that one small Scottish clan paid in tribute to another larger clan. At least according to a history book I read once.

AN: The keep they are building is loosely based on Tintagel Castle in Cornwall, complete with the two fresh water streams on the isolated peninsula, which is almost an island.


End file.
